Cripple
by LaughingLadybug
Summary: When they found out their baby may never walk, they gave him up for adoption. Not for themselfs, for his safety. Now their little boy is all grown up and searching for them.
1. Prologue

"Your baby may never be able to walk," the doctor said sadly. How could the baby of two master assassins be crippled? To say they were heartbroken would be an understatement. Natasha felt terrified. How could she keep her little boy safe if he can't run from danger? She had too much red in her leger, and keeping the baby with them would only add to that. She and Clint had enemies, ones who'd do anything for revenge, even take the life of a weak and innocent child.

Clint, however, felt as if his world was falling apart. His little boy was hurt, and he can't fix it. And now he's a ready- made target. How do you protect a child who can't walk? He knew he couldn't. Not even with weapon would this child be safe. How does one shoot an arrow while on crutches, not even he could do that. "I'll give you two some privacy."

"Clint," Natasha said with tears swimming in her eyes. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair while whispering sweet nonsense in her ear. "We can't keep this baby…with us he wouldn't even make it a year."

"Tasha, don't say that," he whispered.

"It's true Clint," she exclaimed. He sighed as he felt an ache in his chest, he knew what she was thinking and it would kill him to do it…but anything for his little boy's safety.

"I think we should do adoption," she whispered.

"Is that what you want," he asked.

"No, but if it means he'll be safe…then I'll do it."

"Looks like we have a plane," he said sadly.

They found a family within the following months they found a loving family…ones that knew how to protect him. Then he was born, and the fact that they were giving him away killed them even more. "Clint…he looks exactly like you," Natasha whispered with tears in her eyes.

"He has your smile…I can tell," he mumbled. Both parents held their baby in their arms for hours. Then they left him in the care of the hospital until the adoptive family came to get him. That was the last day they saw their little boy.


	2. Searching

Duane Barlow sat in his study hall and groaned. Why is it that the last class always feels like the longest of the day? Luckily his class was right next to where they keep all the buses, so he could see if they were driving out to line up. He groaned when he saw them still sitting there. "What's up," his best friend, John, asked.

"The buses are so slow," Duane whined.

"You're seventeen, act like it," John replied.

"You don't."

"Well that's because I have this rare disease that makes it impossible for me to act my age," John joked.

Duane just rolled his eyes and looked out the window again to see if the buses were coming. The first bus he saw was the short bus, causing him to laugh. "Here comes the short bus," he sang.

"Oh yeah, brag about how you get to go home first," John said without missing a beat. For a moment Duane was silent and stared at his friend, as if to say, _Why!? Why would you say that? _John returned the look. Both boys were unable to keep their poker face for long and busted out laughing.

"That was clever, I liked that," Duane said.

"Duane, John, you can go now," the teacher said. Both boys nodded, John grabbed both their back packs and Duane grabbed his crutches. If he could run, he would've ran out of the room at top speed, but he couldn't, so he didn't. Instead, he took quick strides with his crutches, getting out of the room in a matter of seconds.

"Need anything from your locker," John asked as they passed by.

"Nah. You," Duane replied.

"Nope," he said popping the p.

"Let's get the heck outta here!" He nodded and both practically flew out of the building and onto the bus. "So man, I found some girls who are interested and being as your best friend and wing man I saw it fit to set you up."

"She's the annoying best friend isn't she," he asked as she climbed into the bus.

"….Maybe…." Duane laughed at that. He knew his best friend all too well.

"When," he asked.

"Tonight," he answered.

"Can't," he said. "I've got research."

"You're actually going to do your homework?!"

"Heck no, I'm looking for my birth parents."

"Need any help," he asked and Duane nodded. He needed all the help he could. They continued their conversation, making jokes about everything. When they finally reached Duane's house, he and John both got off and made their way up his long driveway.

Immediately the two boys went to his room and started their research. First they looked for people with the same blood type as him. Then they looked for someone between the ages 33 and 37 then looked for people with children. Then for people who gave a child up for adoption. That's how they got the name Clint Barton.

John looked him up…and found nothing. "Is this guy even real," he shouted in frustration after half an hour.

"Of course he is," Duane said then mumbled, "He has to be." John, being as impatient as he is gave up and went home however Duane kept searching. It was well past midnight when he finally decided to give up. In one last ditch effort to make his search feel complete and to humor himself he went to facebook and typed in the name. And much to his surprise he found his answer. He read the basic info and smirked, _Looks like I'm taking a trip to New York._

He called up his friends much to their annoyance. John agreed instantly, if it sounds like an adventure then he's in. However Talia took a lot more convincing. After twenty minutes of convincing, she agreed.

"Road trip," John cheered into the phone.

"I'll meet you guys at the truck stop by my house," Talia said before hanging up. After packing, and fifthteen minutes of driving the boys were there. The seventeen year old girl climbed into the car and then they were off.

"New York here we come," Duane said.


	3. I Miss Him

Natasha sighed as she watched Steve chase his five year old son through the tower. She faked a slight smile though she felt an ache in her chest. That could've been, should've been, Clint. To say she missed her son would be a great understatement. Oh how she longed to have watched her little boy grow up. She wondered who he sounded like, if he had Clint's sarcastic and fun loving attitude, if he had her ability to seal off all emotions. Or if he was just as stubborn as the both of them, the chances of that were high. She took out her leather wallet and gave a quick look at the picture of the pink infant wrapped up in a blue blanket.

"Hey baby," Clint whispered as he walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her.

"Hey," she whispered back as she leaned onto his shoulder, in turn he nuzzled her neck. Then he noticed how…sad she looked. He softly turned her around to face him then slipped his arms around her middle.

"What's wrong," he asked his beautiful wife. He ever so softly stroked her cheek with his thumb and looked into her eyes.

"I miss him," she murmured as she rested her forehead. He immediately knew who she was talking about, their little boy…well he's not so little anymore. By now he'd be seventeen, Clint was certain of it since he's been keeping track. He just nodded in agreement; he'd always miss his boy. Thinking that this conversation would be better to have in private, he led her upstairs to their living room. Immediately he sat down on the couch with her, who was now curled up at his side. He stroked Natasha's hair and murmured sweet things in her ear.

"I wonder…" she started.

"Wonder what," he asked.

"I wonder what he's like now…I wonder what his voice sounds like…what his name is," she answered trailing off.

Clint was about to answer when JARVIS spoke up. He sighed, really it was annoying, like having to listen to an announcement every five minutes over the school intercom. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, sir, but there is someone here to see you."

Clint raised an eyebrow and looked at Natasha questioningly, in turn she shrugged. Who would be coming to see them? "I'll be right back," he murmured into her hair and she just nodded. Clint pulled away and grabbed his gun then put it in his holster. Better safe than sorry.


	4. Do You Remember?

Duane sighed sadly; apparently this Clint Barton had a huge family filled with "normal" kids. Unlike him, the longer he sat there the more he began to think. He wondered if this is why he gave him away, did he not want him because of his disability. Whatever the reason may be it still stung slightly. It's not his fault he was born this way, so why was he exiled from his family for something he couldn't control. The small children he assumed to be between the ages of three and six continued to poke his legs as he sat on the arm of a couch. "Does it hurt," a little boy with dark hair and dark eyes asked.

"Only sometimes," he answered patiently. "My muscles in my legs are funny. Sometimes I can't feel them and sometimes I can, but when I can it hurts."

"Why," he asked.

"Well, sometimes my muscles decide they want to move around when I'm not ready and it hurts me," he said. It was the simplest way for him to explain muscle spasms to a child so small. That's when Clint walked in, and by the look in his eyes Duane knew he recognized him. "Hello," he said to the older man.

"Hi," Clint answered, eyes trained on his son. He knew that the boy in front of him was the baby that he held in his arms all those years ago, he could feel it. Not to mention that the kid looked exactly like him, except he had Natasha's smile, that much was clear.

"Are you Clint Barton," he asked. Duane felt hope rising up in his chest. _Please say yes, please say yes, just please say yes, _he pleaded in his head over and over. Though, he already knew he was.

"Yes," Clint answered, "Who are you?"

"Do you remember giving a baby away seventeen years ago," Duane asked, when he saw Mr. Barton nod he continued. "Well…I'm that baby, all though I'm all grown up now…well almost."

He smiled broadly and almost wrapped his arms around him, but didn't. Something told him this kid wasn't big on hugging. Maybe that was just because he knew Natasha too well and just assumed the boy in front of him took after her in those aspects. But still he was smiling, over joyed to see him again. "Stay right there, I'll be right back."

"Okay then," Duane said awkwardly. Clint ran off upstairs then brought Natasha down. _Who is she, _he wondered then it all came together when he saw the matching wedding bans on their left hands.

"Natasha…you remember our son," Clint said and Natasha felt tears of joy come to her eyes. Oh how she missed her baby! She looked him up and down, and it was safe to say he wasn't a baby. He was tall and thin with spiky blonde hair, stormy blue-grey eyes, and a slight tan. She smiled slightly at him and nodded.

"So…where do we begin," Duane asked.


	5. Favorite Memory

"What's your name," Natasha asked softly, the hurt in her tone was hard to miss. She felt like an even worse mother that she didn't even name her child before she gave him away.

"Oh, that's right I didn't even introduce myself," he exclaimed. "I'm Duane. Duane Barlow."

"Good to see you again Duane," Clint said, smiling warmly at him.

"Now, I know you're Clint, but who is she," he asked, referring to Natasha.

She couldn't speak, and mentally laughed at herself. She always thought that the only person that could ever make her feel this nervous would be Clint, but she was wrong. Apparently their son inherited that special ability from his father. "This woman right here is your mother, Natasha," Clint answered for her. She gave him a grateful look and smiled at Duane. She looked him up and down, he looked just as she had imagined, exactly like Clint.

"Hello," he said, somewhat awkwardly.

"Sit down," Clint said as he pulled out a chair for him. "Tell us about yourself."

"I'm a curious guy that wants answers," he deadpanned.

"We'll answer your questions if you answer ours."

"Fine," Duane grumbled.

"Do you have a good life," Clint asked, it was an out of character question for him, but it was all he wanted to know.

"Yeah, I guess so," he answered after a moment of contemplation. "My turn now," he answered "How come I was born like this?"

"You weren't growing in a safe place all those nine months considering all the abuse my stomach went through before I met your father. Not to mention a procedure I went through to make sure I didn't have children," Natasha answered then asked her question. "Were you ever bullied?"

"A little bit…then I grabbed a big stick," he answered with an ever growing smirk making its way across his face. They laughed, all doubts of him being their son was erase from their minds. "Why did you give me up?"

"We have enemies, enemies that are cruel and twisted people. They would do anything for vengeance, and that would include killing a child. At first we were just going to keep you here at the tower since Stark has the best security and all the Avengers are there. Then as you grew we'd train you and teach you everything we know. But then we found out you may never walk…and it felt like the world came crashing all around us. Your father and I had no clue how we would've protect you, or how we'd teach you to protect yourself. And I got scared for your life, we both did. So, giving you up may have been the hardest thing to do, but it was the best thing we could do for you," Natasha answered.

Duane went silent. So it was what he thought, it was because of his disability, but their decision was made out of love. They did it because they loved him, not because they were drunk or doped up one night and regretted it. Then again, he always assumed they felt some positive feelings towards him since he wasn't aborted. However from what he could tell by their brief description of their job, the last thing they wanted was more blood on their hands. Especially the innocent blood of their first born child, no parent, no matter how horrible, wants that. He shook his head; there were too many variables to take into consideration. "Your turn," he mumbled.

"What's the best thing that's ever happened to you," she asked.

"I don't know, I'm not done living yet," he answered and she smiled to herself. That sounds like what Clint would say.

"What's your best memory," he asked.

Devilish smirks spread across their faces, they no longer looked like thirty-something year old parents. They now looked like rebellious teenagers. "Budapest," they answered in unison. Before he could ask what's so special about a city in Hungary Clint quickly said, "You don't want to know. Now it's my turn to ask a question. What's your favorite memory?"

"Like I said before, I don't know, I'm not done living. But the one I have for right now is this time when I was ten. My big brother, David, was on the track team. I went to every single meet they had and I was probably the loudest person in the crowd. Any way he and Dad were loading everything into the car and they were talking. I looked at my brother and said, 'What's it like to run?' He said it felt like you were flying but your feet never left the ground, that it made your heart beat go into triple time, and made you all out of breath yet you never want to stop. You just want to keep going and going until you can't anymore. That's all he told me then he went back to talking to Dad and packing. I was watching everybody else do quick laps, showing off for their parents and scouts looking for people to give sports scholarships to. I mumbled, 'I want to run,' and they stopped, looked at each other then looked at me. So, we stayed until everyone was gone. David wheeled me down to the track and told me to close my eyes and spread my arms like a bird, so I did. Then we took off down the track like a rocket and it felt like I flying without leaving the ground and I felt like my heart was about to leap out of my chest. We did that for hours on end, I think my Dad got it on video. And that's my favorite memory," Duane concluded. The minute he looked at them he immediately regretted it. They were both giving him the sad look that people give him whenever they see his crutches or his wheelchair.

Both had a look of pity in their eye, pity and shame. They could've done the same for their child; they could've made him feel that happy every day. It didn't help that every time Duane said the word "dad" Clint knew he wasn't referring to him. It hurt Natasha even more that when he said he had siblings that she knew that he was referring to a child that had not come from her womb.

However they both felt slightly relieved. Their son was happy and found ways to make himself feel normal. He looked and seemed happy and claimed to be so, and as a parent that's all they wanted.


	6. Phone Call

They made him call home, his birth parents, and it was the most unpleasant conversation of his life. "Duane Grayson Barlow what were you thinking," his mother practically screamed into the phone. "You nearly gave your father and I a heart attack taking off like that?! We thought you were hurt and couldn't get up! Worst off all you left the state without leaving so much as a simple note. The STATE DUANE, THE STATE! Your poor father turned this town upside down looking for you and I spent hours calling every hospital within twenty miles. And who was driving? John? You know how I feel about you riding with him…." Her rant seemed to go on for hours but once he got her to calm down and listen to his reasoning, she grew somber.

"I know I'm in trouble but…" Duane started.

"But what Duane," she sighed.

"…Can I stay here for a little while," he asked shamefully. He almost felt guilty for asking, as if he committed an unforgivable sin. He almost wished the words back into his mouth. For a long time the line went silent. "Ma," he asked carefully.

"If it's alright with them then it's alright with me," she said before hanging up on him.

"Love you too Mom," he whispered sadly into the phone.

His friends called home too. John was half yelled at, half-babied. His mom was one of those moms that would be yelling then switch to worrying over you as if you were a small child then switch back being mad. Duane had but one word for this: mental. "She needs to pick a side," he'd always say. John would shrug it off and tell him he had no idea how much easier it made punishment then they'd go play video games.

However Talia got it differently. Her father screamed and yelled, calling her everything. He accused her of unspeakable things and called her more names. Thankfully this was over the phone and he couldn't see or hear her cry. This normally made everything worse on her end. He yelled and yelled and yelled. Calling her an ungrateful prostitute and told her to not even dare denying it. "You are an embarrassment to this family. Don't you dare leave, Talia I'm coming to get you"

Duane watched from the door way. His hands griped his crutches so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He knew what kind of man her father was. A successful man that was a snake in disguise, he would trample over all who was in his path to success and cared for nothing more than his well- being. When the cameras were on him he'd put on a fake charming smile and say "I've got to go home to my little girl and wrap my arms around her," which got him so much publicity that it was sickening. Then he would get home and ignore her. When he saw her he screamed and yelled at her to get out because she was "distracting" him from his work when, no, he just hated the sight of her.

Today he'd gone too far. He made her cry. Duane slipped over to her and sat down next to her. "Ignore him. He's stupid and knows nothing. Plus he's a hypocrite." But his words fell on deaf ears. He held her close and kissed her head in a brotherly way. Then he stroked her hair and smiled when she fell asleep. Then Duane went to go find his birth parents.


	7. Stay

"You do realize that he'll want to go back right," Clint said as he sat down with Natasha on their couch on their floor.

"Yes," she sighed. "I just wish we could keep him. I just wish we could just be parents."

"You and me both," he replied as he rested his chin on her shoulder. He wanted his chance to be a dad. To be someone his son looked up to. Well, maybe the days of him looking up to someone was over but still…the feeling of having a child depending on him was what he missed. Clint's felt the feeling once and that was when Duane was a newborn in his arms.

"Do you think they used the name," she asked. Grayson was what they wanted to name him, so they left a letter asking the birth parents to use it. If they did or not neither Clint or Natasha knew.

"Probably as a middle name," Clint said. Both sat in a comfortable silence as they mused about what they could've done and what they will do.

Then a new voice cut through the silence. "Um…uh…Mr. and Mrs. Barton, can I ask you something," Duane asked.

"Sure, kid. And you can call us Clint and Natasha," Clint said.

"Um, okay. Can I stay here," he asked. No point in beating around the bush.

Both blinked at how to the point he was about something so serious. "How long?"

"Well um…." He thought of a thousand options. Did he want to live here for a while, yup. Did he want to get to know them, oh yes. "Awhile."

"Duane how long is a while," Natasha asked.

"A year," he answered while thinking _Please don't say no._

"Okay," they both said as they fought a smile. He blinked and then grinned. Success!

"Did your other mom say it was okay," Natasha asked.

"Yeah, she said if it was okay with you then it was okay with her."

"All right, you got plans on how you're gonna get your stuff," Clint asked.

"Yup, John's bringing my stuff," he said.

"Good."

So that weekend John drove down to Duane's house, packed up everything that was needed and then drove back down to New York, grumbling about how much gas costs and how he was going to kick Duane's butt if he ended up paying over a hundred dollars.

When he got there he helped them unpack everything. Then after a quick and "manly" goodbye, John was gone promising they'd talk on Minecraft later.

"You play video games," Clint asked.

"Yup," Duane answered with a grin. "Call of Duty's my favorite."

"Bet I can beat you," he said with a smirk.

"Bet you can't."

"Oh really? You want to put your money where your mouth is, kid," Clint challenged playfully.

"Bring it on old man," Duane countered. And so the two went to the entertainment system and immediately started playing against each other in some game that Natasha couldn't name. It was fun to watch though and she couldn't stop smiling at their own little family.

* * *

**A/N: I promise the chapters are going to start getting longer.**

**-Stay Gold**

**LaughingLadybug**


	8. Goodnight, Son

He looked around his new room, well technically old room. According to Clint and Natasha this was going to be the nursery. It had blue walls and a dark wooden trim. After waiting a few hours and new bed, dresser, desk and bookshelf was set up for him.

The one thing he didn't like though was the fact that they had him in a wheelchair. Clint asked, Natasha ordered. What could he do? Normally he'd fight tooth and nail wanting to stay out of the chair but he didn't this time. He couldn't this time, it wouldn't be right. Here these people are, willing to let him stay in their home, eat their food, use their stuff and so on. He couldn't protest to their simple requests, especially since they asked him to do it for his "own good."

Apparently they were afraid he'd over exert himself if he didn't take a break and sit down. He argued that he was fine plus if he sat still for too long he'd go insane. Thus the idea of having him in a wheelchair came about. Duane hated it. It felt demeaning in some way. As if to say he wasn't independent or that being crippled would always hold him back.

"Duane," Natasha called. "Come down here please."

"Coming," he called as he stood himself up and made a grab for his crutches. Somehow he managed to put himself back on balance with his crutches and used the elevator to get downstairs.

Bad elevator music played. He spent a few minutes trying to think of the tune. Funky town, no that wasn't it, or maybe it was something older. Oh well, who cared he'd worry about it later. However he was shocked that when the elevator doors open there were quite a few more people waiting there for him. "Who are they," Duane asked, gesturing to the other adults. There were women, small children, and kids who looked to be his age.

"Meet the extended family," Clint said, "Your uncles Steve, Bruce, Tony and Thor and your Aunts Jane, Pepper, Darcy and Lilly."

"Hi," Duane greeted and waved a bit awkwardly. They all waved back. "So…um…Why are they here?"

"Because we never got to see you," Darcy said as she leaned against Bruce. He wrapped his arms around her while their teenaged kids rolled their eyes. One was a girl with warm brown eyes and hair curly black hair down to her waist. She was pretty, but not his kind of pretty. Then there was a guy, pale skin same curly black hair but blue eyes. They seemed nice enough. Their names were Daisy and Derek Banner.

Then there were a couple of Italian kids. One was about sixteen, his name was Andrei Stark. And Duane almost instantly hated him. Sarcastic, self- adsorbed and a know-it-all; all the things he hated. However the five-year old, was a little better. He was more curious about the world, more innocent. He liked that.

Then there was a tall pale girl with bright blue eyes and a slim frame. Sarah Rogers was her name and she was sweet. She was very comforting too, and formal. He had to look down so she wouldn't see him roll his eyes. Clint could see from across the room that his son was trying so very hard to be polite and had to chuckle. Thankfully, Duane had his attitude.

Then there was one guy that seemed okay. Riley Foster, he was a tall guy who had long blonde hair and blue eyes. His arms looked like they belonged to a gorilla. They talked for a while and he tried to make friends with all of them but that never was one of his strong suits.

Hours passed yet it felt like years for Duane. They were nice people but…it was smothering. Maybe this is how newborn babies feel when you bring them home for the first time. He sighed slightly and rested his head on the table.

Natasha placed her hand on his back and she could've sworn she felt him relax a little. "You feeling okay," she asked her son.

He shrugged slightly and closed his eyes. "Tired," he mumbled as he returned his head to his folded arms.

"Why don't you go hit the hay," she suggested as she dared to stroke a small part of his upper back.

"Okay," he yawned as he shakily got to his feet with his crutches. He tried to get to the elevator but it was difficult due to his drowsiness. Clint came up behind him and helped him into the elevator and helped him into his room.

Duane fell onto the bed and fell asleep almost instantly. Clint covered him up with blankets and gave him a pillow. In a way, it was almost like he was tucking him in.

"Night, son," he whispered as he ruffled his hair.

"Night," Duane mumbled sleepily into the pillow. With that, Clint turned out the lights, left the door open just a crack and went back downstairs.


	9. Complicated

**A/N: I own nothing. Not the lyrics, not the Avengers, not anything. All I own is my Original Characters**

Duane woke up the next morning with an unfamiliar ceiling greeting him awake. He sighed and looked around. Where was he? This isn't his room! He sighed and looked around and found a note on the nightstand. Here's what it read:

_Duane,_

_Natasha and I decided that we'd let you continue your education at your high school here. Your teachers will be sending a month's worth of homework at the beginning of each month. Then at the end of the month we'll send it to them to grade. Hope this help!_

_-Clint_

He groaned. Why, oh, why did they have to do that? As if school wasn't bad enough, now he has to do it all at once. Duane shook it off and went downstairs and immediately wished he hadn't. All the other kids were down there. So were the parents, but they were in the kitchen talking over something. About what, Duane didn't know and didn't care.

However at this moment Duane would much rather be in the kitchen than with these kids. Some were staring at his crutches; others were smiling sympathetically. It was unnerving. Duane smiled back at them as if he was fine and walked into the room. "Hey," he said and took a step in. _Please let me live 'til morning, _Duane mentally begged.

* * *

Meanwhile the Avengers sat around the table in the kitchen discussing the little "surprise" named Duane the two master assassins had waiting for them. "So…I thought he was aborted," Darcy started.

"We couldn't go through with it," Clint said. "Neither one of us wanted more blood on our hands, especially not the blood of our child." Just the thought of the seventeen year old in the other room never getting to live made him shiver.

"That explains the four month long mission," Steve mused as his wife, Alaina, sat next to him. Everyone nodded in agreement and the conversation continued.

"You know, Banner and I could've invented something so the kid could learn to walk," Tony said off handedly.

"Just like you said that you two could make a self-watering flower pot," Natasha and Pepper asked in unison. Both men look down.

"But we're better now and we're not impulsive twenty-something-year-olds," Bruce pointed out.

"Prove to me that you can make something that'll be safe for him to use then I'll allow it," Natasha said. It was surprising how easily she slipped into the Mom role. Clint smiled slightly as he listened to her talk.

"Yes mom," both scientist groaned in unison, causing their wives to chuckle.

"Have you told him you all are," Jane asked while holding onto Thor's arm.

"No, not yet, it'd be too much on him within a time span of a couple of days," Natasha answered. "We'll tell him when

That's when they all heard it. A loud and angry voice that sounded thoroughly exasperated and frustrated. "I SAID NO ALREADY," it shouted. The voice sounded fairly young and slightly unfamiliar. Then they came to a realization that it was Duane. Everyone got up and went into the living room.

All the older kids had Duane surrounded and were asking him question after question rapidly. No wonder he sounded so angry. After Andrei quickly explained to them all that they were "interrogating the newbie," all the kids were sent to their rooms.

"What did they ask," Clint asked his son.

"Something personal," Duane said unhappily.

"What was it," Natasha asked.

"Don't want to talk about."

"Why?"

"It's complicated."

With that being said Duane went upstairs and back to his room. He turned on his lap top, listened to the song "Wonderwall," by Noel Gallahger and put it on repeat. He closed his eyes and imagined the reason why he loved so much. It was simple really; the reason why he loved was because Talia would sing it, in the mornings in particular.

He remembered the day he first heard her sang it. It was in early in the morning on a Saturday and she was sitting in the window sill. The light caught her hair a certain way that made it hold a coppery sheen. Her skin porcelain and her eyes held a distant look. She was bored and waiting and absentmindedly sang the song.

_Today is gonna be the day_

_That they're gonna throw it back to you_

_By now you should've somehow_

_Realized what you gotta do_

_I don't believe that anybody_

_Feels the way I do about you now_

_Backbeat the word was on the street_

_That the fire in your heart is out_

_I'm sure you've heard it all before_

_But you never really had a doubt_

_I don't believe that anybody_

_Feels the way I do about you now_

_And all the roads we have to walk are winding_

_And all the lights that lead us there are blinding_

_There are many things that I would like to say to you_

_But I don't know how_

_Because maybe_

_You're gonna be the one that saves me_

_And after all_

_You're my wonderwall_

_Today was gonna be the day_

_But they'll never throw it back to you_

_By now you should've somehow_

_Realized what you're not to do_

_I don't believe that anybody_

_Feels the way I do about you now_

_And all the roads that lead you there were winding_

_And all the lights that light the way are blinding_

_There are many things that I would like to say to you_

_But I don't know how_

_I said maybe_

_You're gonna be the one that saves me_

_And after all_

_You're my wonderwall_

_I said maybe_

_You're gonna be the one that saves me_

_And after all_

_You're my wonderwall_

_I said maybe_

_You're gonna be the one that saves me_

_You're gonna be the one that saves me_

_You're gonna be the one that saves me_

This song described Talia so well that it was eerie, well both of them really. He's seen her walk blindly into relationships and get hurt, and slowly stop walking into them and ran away from them instead. Many times she's told him that she's been hurt so many times and how broken she felt, and how she was fairly certain that no one really truly felt anything "like that" towards her anyway. When in reality he was certain that no one else on this planet could love her more than he did. Each time she'd stop to take a breath and each time he's never tried to tell her otherwise.

Duane just never knew how. And now silence would probably kill him because he wouldn't see her for a year. _Idiot, _he thought to himself before putting his computer on shuffled and listening to every song he had while trying to calm down.

* * *

Natasha and Clint watched on the security feed and sighed sadly. "He misses somebody already," Natasha sighed.

"Must be a friend or a girlfriend," Clint said with a shrug.

"What makes you say that," she asked.

"Look at all the kids here in the tower; they're all buddied up with somebody. That's how kids are. They get so close knit that they can't or won't let any new comers in."

"We could let those two kids he came here with come over," she said.

"Sounds good," he replied. He went to walk out the room but Natasha stopped him.

"What made you say girlfriend?"

"Because when you miss someone you love, it hits you like a ton of bricks only twice as hard and twice as fast," he said with a wink then walked out. Natasha smiled and blushed slightly before following him.


	10. Dad

Every time Clint walked into Duane's room within the past week, music was playing. Carry On My Wayward Son, Secrets, Unusually Unusual, Springsteen, Home Boy, The Lazy Song, Wonderwall, If Everyone Cared, I'm A Believer. Not that order in particular, but you get the basic idea.

Clint had been calling for Duane to come downstairs for the last ten minutes. And this was getting to be repetitive. He walked in and did something a Dad would do; he marched into the room, turned off the music and crossed his arms while standing in front of him. "What did I say about music," he asked in a dangerously calm voice.

"Not to have it too loud," Duane sighed "but it wasn't that loud."

"The windows were shaking, and those are bullet proof," Clint pointed out.

"No they weren't," he said.

"Yes they were, and you want to know what I'll do if this happens one more time?"

"Not really," he said, knowing that he'd be told anyway.

And he was right, Clint did tell him anyway. And what he had to say was not what he wanted to hear. However, it did sound like something Clint would say. "If you get the music that loud again, I'll take an AK 47 to the thing then throw it out the window."

"No you won't."

"You're right, I won't, but I will take it from you and have Tony program it so you can't listen to music anymore."

"What! No! Dad, that's not fair!"

"Then don't get your music so loud and come down when your mother and I call for you," Clint said. "Why do you play it so loud, anyway?"

"I don't play it loud," Duane grumbled.

"Oh yes you do, kid," Clint said nodding. "I've been calling for you for the last ten minutes and I bet you didn't even hear me."

Duane looked off, slightly annoyed and ashamed. "Sorry," he grumbled bitterly and turned away from him a bit.

Clint sighed sadly. Since when did being a parent turn hard? No, he hasn't had Duane since he was a baby, but he didn't suspect that teenagers would be this hard. Nor did he suspect that he could feel a little guilt for scolding his own kid. Clint placed a hand on his shoulder and said, "Be downstairs in ten minutes, okay?"

"Yeah, okay Dad," Duane mumbled. He had but one word for this entire conversation: stupid. It's not his fault he has bad hearing. But here he is, being crucified for it. Clint just decided to let it go. He was the same way when he was seventeen. Stubborn and cocky, nothing more, nothing less, hopeful this trait wasn't very strong in his son.

"Ten minutes," Clint reminded before leaving. With that, the older man left and went downstairs to his beautiful wife. He sat down and drank his coffee and the two talked for a five minutes before Clint's eyes grew wide in realization.

Natasha noticed this and worried a bit. "Clint? Clint what's wrong," she asked.

A small smile played on Clint's face. "He called me Dad."

* * *

**A/N: Any suggestions for when John and Talia come for a visit?**


End file.
